


you're every line, you're every word, you're everything

by coffee_music_books



Series: line by line [1]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, an exercise in fluff, here's some happiness, it's been a rough few episodes for our babies, just fluffy fluff, what we all need rn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 09:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11734050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_music_books/pseuds/coffee_music_books
Summary: You're everything, you think, and don't have the courage to say. So you say nothing, but you hope she hears it anyway.ORWaverly and Nicole in love, because that's what we all deserve right now.





	1. you're the fallin' star

**Author's Note:**

> Title of fic and each chapter are lines pulled from "Everything" by Michael Buble. Michael Buble always makes me feel better about love

Waverly likes to stargaze in the summers. You like to picnic, so you kill two birds with one stone, as it were.

 

Fridays are date nights, and Wynonna vacates the homestead gracelessly and tactlessly--usually with some comment about "Haught sex" or "keep those crusty hands off my sister" or something in between--and you and Waverly lay a big fleece blanket in the grass of the homestead's sprawling property.

 

Waverly is a great baker, especially considering all of her treats are usually sugar-free, dairy-free, and gluten-free. It took you a few weeks, but you managed to compromise: if she's going to take all the fun out of dessert, you're allowed to have a slice of pizza or a sandwich for dinner. You bring your own entree--she usually makes herself a fun-free, dairy-free, fat-free salad--and you sit on the blanket at sunset and eat.

 

Purgatory may be hell on Earth--literally  _and_ figuratively--sometimes, but it does have some beautiful views. When the sun dips below the mountains on the horizon just so, it lights the sky in a stunning show of technicolor. Pinks and yellows and oranges highlight all of the flawlessness of the landscape, with the flora glowing and the ice caps of the mountains shimmering like precious jewels.

 

Waverly's beautiful,  _beautiful_ face, framed by her long mermaid hair, is angelic in the sunset. The light shines over the planes of her face and highlights her eyes, which take on a blue-green hue framing the amber ring around her pupil. You think you'll never get used to how beautiful Waverly is. And then she reaches out and fingers some strands of your hair, which shines orange and gold in the sunset, and your heart flutters. It beats in time to the rhythm of her name in your ears.  _Wa-ver-ly. Wa-ver-ly_. 

 

_You're everything_ , you think, and don't have the courage to say. So you say nothing, but you hope she hears it anyway.

 

When your dinner is done, the sun is usually mostly gone. Waverly pulls out a thermos of dairy-free, sugar-free hot cocoa--which you drink even though it tastes like cardboard--and hands you a fun-free brownie--which you eat because it actually tastes  _good_ somehow--and you lay down, shoulder to shoulder, to watch the stars appear.

 

It's a game in the beginning, the two of you racing to try to find the first star to appear. Sometimes, when you're feeling particularly playful, you roll over on top of Waverly and tell her the stars are in her eyes, and you pepper kisses along her face and neck as she giggles beneath you. 

 

Today, a Friday, marks the end of a particularly brutal week. Someone has been vandalizing the store fronts in downtown Purgatory and they're smart enough to leave behind no evidence, and you were called to the scene of a gruesome hit-and-run that left a local elementary-school teacher in the ICU. You've gotten the grand total of sixteen hours of sleep since Monday, and your body is wilting beneath the exhaustion and misery. Your grateful for some time away from it all, just you and Waverly.

 

She knows about the vandal, about the teacher, and about how little sleep you're getting--she's been coming to your apartment to feed Calamity Jane at night  _and_ in the morning, since you're only home for two or three hours in the dead of night. 

 

It's a clear Friday night, and the two of you have been laying mostly in silence, your head cradled in Waverly's lap, watching them begin to appear. You point as soon as you see the first star. "There it is," you mumble. "I win."

 

"Yeah, baby," Waverly agrees, twisting her fingers in your hair. She scratches your scalp and you close your eyes, humming. "You win, love."

 

It's a new pet-name, and you preen. Waverly's made her voice low and calm over the sound of crickets and the occasional breeze. You don't say much, you're not really in the mood to talk tonight, and Waverly knows you well enough by now not to push. She wraps her body around yours, ever soft, and holds you until you feel like talking again, or she babbles random factoids because you like the sound of her voice. 

 

"Did you know that stars don't twinkle?" Waverly asks. You shake your head without opening your eyes, and she runs her fingers lightly over your forehead. "If a star twinkles, it's not because of the star, but actually the Earth's unstable atmosphere. The lightwaves are distorted as they enter Earth's atmosphere."

 

You open your eyes, expecting to see Waverly looking up at the sky. Instead, she's bent over so that she's looking down directly at you. Even in the darkness settling around you, her eyes are clear, and like a star in the unstable sky, shimmering. You reach up and rest your fingers against her cheek. In the sky above her, you see a shooting star, and you wish for a trillion more nights like these with Waverly.

 

 


	2. you're the getaway car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You always knew Nicole was an old soul.
> 
> OR
> 
> Nicole makes Waverly watch her favorite cop movie with her, and they double-date with Dolls and Wynonna. Kind of.

You always knew Nicole was an old soul. She's chivalrous and polite and patient. She says she always wanted to be just like her daddy, an accomplished detective who joined the force after leaving the marines and raised her to be strong like the men he knew in his army days. You think Nicole grew up to be more like him than she could ever know, with her quiet strength and fierce determination. You know he's in some city a few hours from Purgatory, and you think he's proud of his daughter. 

 

But, anyway. Old soul.

 

You're not even a little bit surprised when she tells you she only watched movies from the 1980s and earlier growing up, especially cop movies. You're even  _less_ surprised when she says her favorite movie growing up was  _The Departed_ , which she and her dad saw eight times together when it was still in theaters. 

 

You tell her that Uncle Curtis loved police movies, too, and Gus loves anything starring Matt Damon, and they bought the DVD as soon as it was released.

 

You tell her you've never actually seen it, since the scene where Jack Nicholson rebreaks Leonardo DiCaprio's arm always gave you the heebie-jeebies.

 

Now, it's a rainy Sunday afternoon, and you open the front door to see Nicole with freshly-popped popcorn and a determined smile. "We're watching  _The Departed_ today, baby."

 

You groan, stomping your foot lightly. "Really?" Your spine trembles thinking of that Jack Nicholson scene. 

 

Nicole smiles, eyes narrowed. "The weather sucks, I have popcorn and comfy pants, and we're watching it." You groan again. "I promise I'll protect you from Costello?" She blinks and pouts her lower lip. 

 

"Who?" you say, ignoring her pout.

 

Nicole frowns. "Okay. We're watching it."

 

She closed all of the curtains in the living room and pulled some blankets from the basket by the sofa. Wynonna hears the rustling and stumbles down the stairs, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Her swollen belly is still something to get used to, but it makes you less uncomfortable than Dolls coming down the stairs behind her without a shirt on. Even if he  _does_ have a killer six-pack. 

 

Nicole must know what you're thinking. She leans over from behind you and whispers in your ear, "Don't worry, baby. Your abs are  _way_ better." You smile and flush, biting your lip to hide a giggle. 

 

"Wha's happ'nin'?" Wynonna mumbles. 

 

"We're watching  _The Departed_ ," Nicole says, settling on the couch and resting an arm along the back of it. You know she's expecting you to plop down in front of it, and when you do she rests her hand on your shoulder. 

 

Dolls brightens. "I  _love_ that movie," he says, and it's the most enthusiastic you think he's ever sounded. 

 

"Well, feel free to join us," Nicole responds, and you can hear the smile in her voice without having to turn around and see it. She rubs circles into your skin over your shirt and you relax as Dolls pulls Wynonna into his lap in one of the chairs. She complains she has to pee  _for the billionth time today_ and leaves.

 

When Wynonna comes back, half of the movie is over.

 

You burrow into Nicole's side as the scene where Jack Nicholson tortures Leonardo DiCaprio approaches, and you jump when you hear the screams. Nicole wraps her arms around you  _tight_ and kisses your forehead when she feels you startle. The scene ends and you pull away from her body when you notice the bizarre angle she's contorted herself into in order to wrap around you fully, but when she feels you begin to separate, she tightens her hold.

 

"I'm not crushing you?" you whisper over the movie.

 

Nicole smiles down at you. "Never." You lean up to kiss her softly and easily on the mouth. But kissing Nicole is never easy, and you're making out for a solid twelve minutes of the movie. 

 

Nicole doesn't complain at all about missing a bunch of the plot, and you decide that watching  _The Departed_ wasn't the worst way to spend your Sunday afternoon.

 


	3. you're the line in the sand when i go to far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Babygirl," Wynonna had said, sounding nervous, "everything's fine."
> 
> "I hate when you say that because it usually means that everything is not fine," you'd responded, voice jovial. 
> 
> OR
> 
> There's a minor emergency.

When you rush through the doors of the hospital entrance, your body is suspended in desperate fear.

 

"Babygirl," Wynonna had said, sounding nervous, "everything's  _fine_."

 

"I hate when you say that because it usually means that everything is  _not_ fine," you'd responded, voice jovial. 

 

"Right." Wynonna paused to take a breath, and her hesitation is what tipped her off. 

 

Terror seized your voice as you growled, " _Where's Nicole_?"

 

"In the hospital. But everything's  _fine,_ she just bonked her head and they're checking her ou--"

 

You'd hung up the phone, sprinting out the door without a jacket and peeling out of the drive up the homestead's property way too quickly, the tires screeching underneath you.

 

The nurse at the station clocks the terror in your eyes and answers your rushed  _Nicole_ _Haught_ with a calm voice. "She's in the emergency room getting checked for a possible concussion." You toss as a breathy  _thank you_ over your shoulder as you jog down the hallway to the emergency room. In the back of your mind, you think it's probably not a good thing that you know your way around the hospital this well.

 

You can hear her arguing with a doctor before you know exactly where she is, but then Nedley says  _save it, girl, you're on desk duty for the rest of the week_ and walks out from behind a curtain. When he sees you, he rolls his eyes. "She's in there," he says, nodding towards the curtain. "She's got a minor concussion, but she can tell you  _all_ about that."

 

You pull open the curtain and find her laying in a hospital bed. She's in her new police uniform--which you  _love_ on her, by the way--but there's tears in the sleeves that you don't recognize, and a big, angry welt on her forehead. There's a scratch that looks freshly stitched just below her hairline. "That's gonna scar," the doctor says, pointing at her forehead. 

 

"It's okay," you say. "Chicks dig scars."

 

Nicole sees you and smiles. "Hi, baby," she says. 

 

"What happened?" You're not in the mood for niceties right now. Nicole's in the hospital.  _Again._

 

"It's not a big deal," Nicole says, her hands out in front of her placatingly. You glare at her and see her visibly gulp. "I was walking back from the coffee shop when I saw a little girl--the Richmonds' daughter, Eloise--walking her dog. And this dog is, like, twice her size, babe, I'm not even kidding, and he sees, like, a squirrel or something across the street and goes running, pulling Eloise into traffic." Nicole pauses, watching your face very carefully. 

 

"Go on," you prompt her.

 

"So Eloise lets go of the leash and starts screaming at the dog to come back, but she's standing in the middle of the road, and she doesn't see the car coming." You gasp. "No, no," Nicole says, voice softening. "It's okay. I managed to grab her, but I was running so fast and not payin' attention, and I tripped over the curb when I grabbed her and fell. She's fine, but I cracked my head on the sidewalk and tore up my uniform, so Nedley's a little cross."

 

You let out a relieved breath. "And the dog?"

 

Nicole smiles at you. "Everyone's home safe and sound."

 

Your eyes feel hot. "Except you." You sniffle, though tears haven't really fallen yet. The adrenaline fueling you earlier starts to fade, and your body feels achy and tired.

 

Nicole's eyes soften, and she flashes that half-smile, one dimple deeply cratering her cheek. "I'll be fine, Waves. It's just a couple of bruises."

 

You walk up her her and rest your hands on the bed next to her. Nicole picks up one of them with her fingers and flips it over, pressing a long kiss to the middle of your palm. "I'm sorry I scared you."

 

You smile. "I know, baby." You run a finger down along the bed spread, leaving behind an indent. "But this is the line. Running into traffic?  _Definitely_ crossing the line."

 

Nicole's shoulders shake in a silent laugh. "Noted," she says, intertwining her fingers with yours on the hand she's still holding. 

 

One thing doesn't make sense. "How did Wynonna know about all of this?" you ask, remembering that she's the one who called you.

 

Nicole smirks. "Who do you think I was getting coffee for?" You chuckle. "She kept throwing things at me until I said I would!"

 

 

 


	4. you're the swimming pool on an august day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Waverly takes off her coverup, you forget how to breathe.
> 
> OR 
> 
> Wayhaught goes to the pool

Purgatory doesn't have a public pool within the town lines, which makes cooling off in the summer especially hard. It doesn't help that August brings with it an unending cycle of ninety-degree days, and the sun beats heavily over the town. 

 

When the AC in the homestead conks out, you drag Waverly to a neighboring town's pool for the day on your next Saturday off. She relents, but makes you bring Wynonna, Dolls, Doc and Rosita along, too.

 

"Fine," you acquiesce, "but I'm not driving Wynonna."

 

Dolls takes Wynonna, Rosita, and Doc in his SUV, and you and Waverly pile into her Jeep with all of the towels, bags of sunscreen and snacks, and the cooler full of waters and alcohol (for Wynonna, of course). 

 

Waverly drives with the windows open and radio blasting country music. Her hair is braided neatly into pigtails, and your hair rustles like a big orange tornado in the wind. You settle your  _Purgatory PD_ hat over your head to try to tame it, and when you get to a stoplight Waverly pulls it off your head to run her fingers through your hair. She's so pretty in the bright sunlight, and you lean over to taste her smile.

 

Dolls beats you to the parking lot and everyone gets out to help carry the stuff over to an unoccupied cluster of chairs. You quickly toss two towels down onto chairs next to one another so that you don't have to separate from Waverly. There aren't enough chairs together, so Dolls and Doc have to go grab two more for themselves and finagle them well enough to fit.

 

Doc looks ridiculous wearing swim trunks and his old hat--Waverly whispers in your ear that he stole that bathing suit from Champ, and giggles when you scrunch your nose in disgust--and Wynonna shows him how to work the spray sunscreen. Dolls helps her rub lotion over her belly, telling her she looks beautiful as she complains about feeling like a whale with her post-pregnancy body, and it makes you smile. He even offers to be the one to check in on Whalen, who's at home with his favorite babysitter, Chrissy Nedley.

 

Rosita's skin is an even caramel color, you notice as she pulls off her long t-shirt, which she tosses at Wynonna when she sees her staring. You pull off your coverup and spray your own fair skin with SPF 50, hoping your freckles won't come out too much.

 

When Waverly takes off her coverup, you forget how to breathe.

 

You've seen her naked, of course, in the privacy of your bedrooms, but her skins  _glows_ in the sunlight, butter-soft and exposed and  _right_ _there_. It takes all of your self control and then some to keep from reaching out and touching whatever skin you can get to first.

 

Waverly is all lean muscle and soft, gentle curves in that tiny frame. When she bends to rub sunscreen into her legs, you see some teenage boys look over and stare unapologetically at her ass, and if you weren't  _also_ shamelessly ogling, you'd be flushed with indignant anger on her behalf. 

 

Instead, you're flushed with  _something else_. 

 

"Honey?" Waverly calls, voice sweet and unsuspecting. 

 

You shake your head. "Ye-uh, yeah?" you stutter. Your mouth feels dry, and you lick your lips carefully.

 

"Will you get my back?" Waverly asks, tossing a bottle of Australian Bronze tanning lotion with SPF in your general direction. It bounces off of your belly and you fumble to catch it, startled, and you glare when you hear Wynonna snort.

 

"Sure, babe," you say, picking up the lotion. When you spray it onto her skin, she shivers and squeals. 

 

"Cold," she says, giggling. You smiles because, well, Waverly's adorable, and rub the lotion into her skin. 

 

You take a pretty long time, running your hands and fingers over the surface of her skin carefully and earnestly. When your fingers dip below the waistband of her bikini bottoms, Waverly gasps. "Gotta be thorough," you say, voice purposefully deeper and breathier in her ear. Wynonna makes a gagging noise and Rosita openly laughs, but you can feel the tremble in Waverly's spine and you just don't care about them.

 

When you finally settle into your chair--you make Waverly get your back, too, and she takes even longer than you did--the sun is high in the sky. Dolls has checked on Chrissy twice since you've gotten to the pool and Waverly telling him to  _cool it_ makes everyone laugh and _finally_ begin to relax.

 

Quickly, you start to sweat, and you're uncomfortably hot under the sun when Waverly asks, "hey, do you want to swim with me?" You nod emphatically and follow her to the pool, not even pretending that you aren't watching her impossibly long legs from behind her.

 

The water is cool but comfortable when you dip your toes in. You and Waverly take your time getting in and adjusting to the temperature before you wrap your arms around her and submerge you both. She comes up sputtering and rubbing pool water out of her eyes, and she glares at you over a smile as you chuckle. 

 

"Nicole!" Waverly shouts, pounding a fist against the surface of the water. "You're going to ruin my hair!" 

 

You smile, reaching out to wrap a hand around Waverly's hip. You pull her towards you, leaning in and down to plant a kiss over her lips. You taste chlorine and sunscreen over her lemon chapstick when you pull away, still smiling. "You look beautiful no matter what, baby," you mutter, leaning in to kiss her again.

 

She kisses you back and then splashes you, and as you wipe the burning water from your eyes and catch Waverly running away to meet Dolls, Rosita, Wynonna, and Doc by the steps in the shallow end of the pool, you get the feeling that you should make pool days a weekly thing. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Wynonna has the baby and names him Whalen, which is a Gaelic name meaning "son of the little wolf" and he's over a year old. I know we're unsure of how the pregnancy is going to be resolved, but in this particular story it's been a year and a few months since his birth and he exists and the gang loves him.


	5. and you're the perfect thing to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You admit, it was a stupid fight.
> 
> OR
> 
> Waverly and Nicole have a minor squabble BUT THEN THEY MAKE UP BECAUSE THEY LOVE EACH OTHER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise guys this is hardly any angst at all I PROMISE I wouldn't do that to you.

You admit it, it was a stupid fight.

 

Nicole had been working almost nonstop for three days and you missed her. You made these big plans: kicking Wynonna out of the homestead, cooking a big dinner--vegan lasagna, which even  _Wynonna_ admits she likes--and then curling up by the fire with a bottle of wine and a crappy rom-com on Netflix. Basically, just an excuse to be together, alone, for a while.

 

You forgot to consider how tired she'd be.

 

You head to the station to invite Nicole over. You'd thought,  _how cute would it be if I just showed up there?_ and hopped in the Jeep. You stopped at the coffee shop to pick up her favorite--a cappucino, extra foam, with two Splenda--and doodled a little heart next to her name on the cardboard sleeve.

 

But when you get to the station, well, it was a little different.

 

That  _little_ case Nicole was working on? She actually uncovered an underground poaching ring in Purgatory. 

 

The kicker? It was an inside job. 

 

One of the bailiffs at the courthouse was involved. She's bugged the judge's quarters in order to find out the location of a key witness in the case and smoke him out.

 

Nicole found out and told Nedley; Nedley must not have taken it well.

 

When you walk in, there's a larger-than-normal group of people in the holding cell, including a girl who looks about your age, wearing an officer's uniform. She's tucked herself away in the corner and she looks  _terrified_. And she already has a nasty-looking black eye.

 

Nicole is sitting at her desk violently slamming her stapler into a pile of forms. It doesn't seem to work, and she yanks at the gears to pry it open angrily. You try to exude  _positivity_ as you approach her desk.

 

"Hey, baby," you say, voice chipper and light.

 

Nicole's body is slumped over, her face dark and shaded behind a curtain of her bright, orange hair. It's greasy at the roots, like she hasn't showered in days, and you see puffy, swollen bags under her eyes when she finally looks up to acknowledge you. "What is it, Waves?" she grunts. 

 

Well, that hurts.

 

"I brought you a coffee." You place the cup on the other side of her desk so she doesn't accidentally knock it over. "And I wanted to know if you'd want to, I don't know, hang out tonight? At the homestead?" You fold your hands in front of your chest, fingers intertwined, like you're begging, and flash your signature bright-as-the-sun Waverly Earp smile.

 

Nicole rolls her eyes. " _God_ , Waverly, can't I have just five freaking minutes to relax?" she grunts. Her voice is raised and she looks  _furious_. "I haven't slept, showered, and hardly eaten in, like, three days. I just want to go  _home_. Does that  _work_ for you?" She rises from her seat, glaring at you with more frustration than you've ever seen in her. "Can't you just leave me  _alone_?"

 

You're startled and feeling rejected, and when you scan the room in shame, you see that everyone's attention is on you. You're humiliated. "Wow, okay,  _sorry_ , Nicole. I just wanted to see you. Is that so wrong?" You don't wait for her to respond, storming out of the bullpen, the station, and back into your car. You can feel the burn in your cheeks and tears welling in your eyes, and you go home to wallow in some good-old-fashioned self-pity. 

 

* * *

 

 

You were going to text Wynonna and tell her it's safe to come home, but you don't mind having the house to yourself for a few hours. You eat your salad alone and pull a pint of dairy-free, sugar-free ice cream from the freezer to defrost. 

 

You're sitting back onto the couch to select a movie on Netflix when there's a knock at the door.

 

"Coming!" you call, pulling your sweatshirt on and zipping the front. Your pajama shirts are thin, and screw wearing a bra when you're home alone!

 

You open the door to find a very guilty-looking Nicole. 

 

Her hair is damp--which,  _what_ is she doing walking around in two-degrees-Celsius weather with wet hair?--and she has a bouquet of wildflowers in her gloved hand. When she registers you standing in front of her, she gives you a sad smile. "Hi, baby," she says, her voice low and soft.

 

Your heartbeat picks up. You're not angry anymore, but you feel uncomfortable now, like she's going to bite your head off again, or something, and it makes you anxious. You never feel anxious around Nicole. You don't like it. "Hi."

 

"I'm really, really, so incredibly sorry for how I acted today," she says, thrusting the bouquet of flowers at you. 

 

You narrow your eyes. "So you bought me flowers to earn my forgiveness?"

 

Nicole smiles. "No, no. These are for the coffee earlier. I really,  _really_ needed it. I think that caffeine boost helped me finally settle that case." She shrugs. "These are a 'thank you.'"

 

You nod your head, but you don't take the flowers. Nicole looks at the ground, then at her snow boots. You see that she's wearing leggings, and again,  _it's two degrees outside_. "Why don't you just come in? So we can talk?" You step back so that there's room for her to walk into the homestead. She sighs, as though she's grateful, and walks in swiftly, kicking her boots off immediately. You lead her into the kitchen. 

 

"Look, Waverly--"

 

"Listen, I'm--"

 

You both start to talk at the same time, laughing awkwardly as you interrupt each other. Nicole places the flowers down on the countertop and smiles at you, looking up through her eyelashes. She's so  _pretty_ , with her wet hair and tired eyes and beautiful, long eyelashes. And those dimples. 

 

You hate fighting.

 

"Why don't you go first?" she says, and then bites her lip. You nod.

 

"Okay." You take a breath, still feeling nervous and out-of-place. "I'm sorry I ambushed you at the station. I just thought--" you stop. "I just  _missed you_ , Nicole. I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?" She smiles at you, her eyes melting.

 

"No," she murmurs.

 

"Right!" You start pacing. "I just wanted to have some nice _alone time_ with you here at the homestead. Wynonna's gone, there are no emergencies. Just us, you know?" You stop and face her. "But I didn't think about how tired you'd be. I was selfish. " You shrug, and Nicole smiles wider. "I'm sorry."

 

Nicole starts laughing. 

 

"Okay," you say, crossing your arms over your chest. "Now I'm confused."

 

Nicole shakes her head. "I'm sorry," she says, rubbing under one of her eyes. "You're just--just--you're just  _the best_ , baby."

 

You shift your weight onto one hip and grin. "Yeah?"

 

Nicole nods. She starts walking towards you, slowly. "I was such a  _jerk_ to you earlier, Waves. You came to my place of work,  _with gifts_ , and tried to ask me on a really  _nice_ date, and then you were going to surprise me with my favorite dinner?" She points over your shoulder and you remember the tray of lasagna, wrapped in tinfoil on the stove. "And all I did was yell at you." 

 

She's close enough now to settle her hands on your hips. Her gloves, resting on the counter, left her hands warm and sold, and you can feel the heat of her skin through the material of your sweatshirt. "I'm so lucky to have you, baby. And I'm so  _sorry_ that I was shit at showing that today."

 

She presses a sweet, lingering kiss to your forehead, and you feel like crying. She feels safe and warm and calm--like  _your_ Nicole again. "I shouldn't have taken my stress out on you like that," she murmurs against your skin. "But I love you, and I'll try my best to never do that again. Okay?"

 

You pull back so you can look her in the eyes. "That was the perfect thing to say, baby," you tell her with a smile. "Now," you take a step back, "lasagna?"

 


	6. and you play it coy, but it's kinda cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only thing worse than Oblivious Wynonna is Helpful Wynonna.
> 
> OR
> 
> Wynonna interrupts and makes fun of Waverly and Nicole's sex life, and Nicole has HAD it.

Wynonna likes to joke.

 

You totally know that.

 

She's funny and dry and sarcastic and she does it to everyone. But now that she knows about you and Waverly, it's getting a little gross. The only thing worse than Oblivious Wynonna is Helpful Wynonna.

 

Exhibit A.

 

Waverly lives with her big sister, and her big sister has...boundary issues. It's totally cool.

 

But for goodness sake, Wynonna,  _knock first_.

 

Ever since the cheerleading incident, Waverly learned that you both love and  _hate_ her little crop tops. That strip of skin on her belly is  _maddening_ when you're trying to get work done and all you can think about is running your tongue down Waverly's abs.

 

So she wears crop tops all the time. _It's winter, Waves, you're not subtle!_

 

Anyway--

 

Waverly comes into the station wearing another of her-- _ahem_ \--"shirts." It just about covers the bottom of her bra before thinning into two strips of fabric that wrap around her middle and tie in the back. 

 

Basically, Waverly's entire stomach is exposed. In all its abdominal glory.

 

The lighting in the station isn't the  _best_ , but you can see every plane and valley of the muscles in Waverly's stomach. And you scan them all, committing every dip and smooth expanse of skin to memory, every freckle, and the slight edge of the scar from that time she was grazed by a bullet, before realizing that you haven't said hello or even looked her in the face yet.

 

When you do, she's smirking. "See somethin' you like, Officer Haught?" She's coy, biting her bottom lip and failing to stifle a giggle.

 

You smile. "Well, as a matter of fact," you say, nodding slowly. "I do, Miss Earp."

 

Waverly walks towards your desk slowly. "Well, what do you propose to do about it, Officer?" She rests her hands, palms down, on the wood, fingers perpendicular to the grain. She's smirking, leaning forward towards you in an obvious challenge. She even raises and lowers her eyebrows at you. 

 

You slide your chair out and roll it around so that you're sitting next to your desk instead of behind it. Waverly takes the few steps she needs to take so that the corner isn't separating you anymore, and you pull her towards you with a quick hand on her wrist. She crashes into your knees softly and you pull her so that she's leaning down. You plant one, two sweet kisses to her lips, resting the hand not wrapped around her wrist gently against the side of her neck,

 

When you pull away, Waverly's eyes are still closed, and she has a little smile on her lips. You lean back in to taste it. "I'd do more about it if there weren't cameras in here," you murmur, you breath sweeping over Waverly's grin. 

 

Her smile turns wicked and she giggles. "Maybe you should do it anyway," she teases.

 

"Ok _ay_ , and that's when I ruin the moment!" Wynonna comes stomping into the bullpen and shouting, snapping her hands and waving them around her head. She looks like a crazy person.

 

Waverly rolls her eyes and sighs. "Wynonna, how long were you out there?" she asks, whipping around. You manage to dodge getting hit in the face by her braided ponytail, but only just barely. You're busy glaring at Wynonna, too.

 

"Long enough to watch Haughtstuff over there nearly grope you, baby sister," Wynonna responds. She fiddles with a pen, tapping it agains the surface of the front desk. You pull a post-it off of your desk and crumple it up to throw at her. "Oh come on, Haught-potatoe, you know paper isn't going to hurt me  _nearly_ as much as humiliation hurts  _you_ ," she teases with a nasty grin.

 

You growl. Waverly takes your hand and settles it on her waist--where the skin is still bare and  _not helping, Waves_ \--and Wynonna points at you. "Hey, hands where I can see them, ma'am," she says, forefinger and thumb straightened into a finger-gun. "I don't want to see  _any_ penetration without proper lubrication and protection."

 

Your jaw  _drops_.

 

Wynonna chuckles. "And, Waves, no eating out without dental dams. You know where they are, babe, in the drawer in the mudroom. Okay, kids, see you at the homestead!" Wynonna turns around, flipping you two off with both hands. "Panties on the door if you're doing naked things when Dolls and I are home! We don't want a repeat of the last fiasco!" The door to the station shuts behind her.

 

You and Waverly are frozen for a few moments, but you get your bearings first. "I see why you wanted to stay a secret at the beginning," you grumble, pressing a palm to your forehead. Waverly shakes her head back and forth as though she's waking up from a dream.

 

 _Nightmare_.

 

"The only thing worse than an oblivious Wynonna," Waverly says, turning towards you. She picks up your hand again, settling it back onto her skin, and rubs up your arm. She follows the movement with her upper body so that her face is close to yours. Her words dance off of your lips, and you smell her fruity chapstick on her smile as she says, "is a helpful Wynonna."

 

 


	7. oh when you smile at me you know exactly what you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of things to like about Nicole's face, you learn.
> 
> OR 
> 
> Waverly has a favorite thing about Nicole's face.

There are a lot of things to like about Nicole's face, you learn.

 

She has those big,  _big_ eyes, and her skin is so soft, and her lips taste so good.

 

A lot of things.

 

But your favorite thing about Nicole's face: her dimples. When she smiles, her whole face smiles. When she smiles at you, the corners of her eyes crease and she  _melts_ , and her dimples crater her cheeks deeply.

 

Your fascinated by them.

 

You're lying in bed with Nicole, gloriously naked and warm and sated. Everything about being pressed against Nicole feels good. She's lying on her back, her fiery hair spread across your pillow. You're on your belly, propped up on your elbows so you can face her, and she's rubbing your bicep softly enough to lightly tickle with her fingertips. You hum and she smiles, and you run your pointer finger over the dimple in her cheek.

 

Nicole giggles. "You like my dimples?"

 

You smile and nod emphatically. "I love them," you murmur, running over her skin again. Nicole chuckles.

 

"I hate to burst your bubble, baby," Nicole says, propping up her head against the pillow with her arm, "but dimples are actually technically deformities."

 

You narrow your eyes. "What?" 

 

"Yeah." Nicole nods. "Dimples are actually holes in the muscles on your face. It's a deformity."

 

That makes you smile. You always thought that all of the information, the random little factoids floating around in your head made you strange. You were one of the smartest kids in your class--some say the smartest in Purgatory--and you've never really felt  _normal_ about wanting to just  _know_ things. But Nicole has a galaxy of of information and questions in her head, and you love her more for it.

 

"What's that sunshine smile for?" Nicole asks, brushing your cheek with a knuckle.

 

You blush. "I kind of like that. About the holes in your face." 

 

"Yeah?" Nicole giggles.

 

"Yeah." You nod your head and inch closer to her. "It's nice to know that you're not so perfect." 

 

Nicole smiles wider, dimples sinking deeper into her skin, and the breath she takes to respond gets lost behind your kiss. 

 

 


	8. baby, don't pretend that you don't know it's true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicole is quietly sentimental. It's one of your favorite things about her.
> 
> OR
> 
> Waverly stealthily makes the best birthday for Nicole that she can.

Nicole is quietly sentimental. It's one of your favorite things about her. She finds meaning in the little things--movie ticket-stubs, receipts, dried flowers, a tube of lipstick, a sweater--small tokens of your relationship that hold her favorite memories. 

 

She's careful,  _so_ careful, about how and when and where she keeps everything. She plays all of her cards close to the vest and she's easily embarrassed sometimes. And on top of not  _loving_ the spotlight, Nicole is careful to preserve her stone-cold facade for the men on the force. She can't risk showing weakness, or seeming like  _a girl_.

 

Because  _God forbid_ that happen.

 

So she doesn't publicize much. Her social media is sparse, and the surface of her desk is carefully bare, but she sends you links to things she finds interesting or funny or outrageous, and she keeps a picture of the two of you in the top right drawer.

 

But you're Waverly Earp, and you're nothing if not thorough.

 

One of the first things you do after things with Nicole become official and real is find out the essentials.

 

"What's your favorite color?" you ask her over milkshakes one Sunday afternoon. "What's your favorite food? When's your birthday?"

 

Nicole smiles at you with a furrowed brow and swallows her sip of vanilla milkshake. "What is this, twenty questions?"

 

You shrug, grinning. You feel your cheeks flush; Champ used to call you  _annoying_ for asking all of your questions. "Sorry. I just thought, now that--well--" you wave a hand back and forth between the two of you "this is happening, I just thought those were things I should know."

 

And Nicole reminds you why you're dating her in the first place. She  _melts_. "Okay then." She takes another sip of her milkshake. "My favorite color is blue. I have a sweet-tooth and I love M &Ms. My birthday is March 30th."

 

You smile. "Thank you. Who's your celebrity crush?"

 

Nicole laughs, picking up your hand on the table and rubbing her thumb over your knuckles.

 

* * *

 

 

March 30th comes around a few months later and you have a brilliant plan. 

 

Nicole was very clear that she didn't want to make a big deal about her birthday. "It's just another day like any other, Waves," she'd said, nuzzling into the spot under your ear that makes you tremble. You'd forgotten to argue after that.

 

And, okay, you didn't  _totally_ ignore her instructions. 

 

It's just a small gathering--the Nedleys, Wynonna, Doc and Dolls, Jeremy, Rosita, and even Calamity Jane--in the homestead. You order in pizza and buy sodas and alcohol and Rosita generously offers to bartend, which you politely refuse and she politely ignores. 

 

Totally not a big thing. Right?

 

Well, it's happening. So.

 

You texted Nicole earlier that afternoon,  _come over so we can celebrate babe!_ and sent a few emojis, both suggestive and not-suggestive. Nicole responds with  _okay! as soon as my shift's over ill be there :)_

 

Her shift ends at 4:00pm, and she's going to want to shower and change into street clothes, so you estimate she'll be over no earlier than 4:30pm. 

 

At 4:34pm the doorbell rings. Everyone hides with party hats and party horns while you go to get the door. Nicole is on the porch, wet hair tucked under a deep navy beanie, and you smile. "Hi, baby."

 

"Hey, Wave." You lean out to kiss her, which she meets with a smile. "Can, uh, can I come in?" 

 

You jolt, realizing you haven't fully opened the door for her and it's fifteen degrees outside. "Oh! Of course, come here." 

 

As soon as Nicole walks in, everyone jumps. "Surprise!" Party horns sound and confetti rains--you don't know  _what_ Wynonna tore to make confetti, but you hope it wasn't important--and there's applause. Rosita holds out a beverage and Jeremy wraps Nicole into a too-tight hug.

 

When Nicole turns to face you, her face is as red as her hair. "Surprise?" you say, shrugging. You smile sheepishly. 

 

Nicole grins. "I  _knew_ something was up with you!" She pulls you into a tight hug, laying a kiss on top of your head. "Thank you, baby."

 

You smile into her shoulder and squeeze her once. Pulling back, you look into Nicole's beautiful eyes and flash your best Waverly-sunshine smile. "Happy birthday, baby." Nicole grins back, and you lean up to taste her smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Later on, after the pizza has long since been devoured and  _Never Have I Ever_ \--thanks for that, Wynonna--is winding down a little, you disappear into the kitchen. 

 

"Waves?" Nicole calls. You're gone longer than you'd intended.

 

"Coming! One sec," you respond over your shoulder, lighting the last candle.

 

You come out with a big cake in your hand. Chocolate-vanilla marble cake--you weren't sure which she'd prefer, she likes both--with blue buttercream frosting. Across the top, mini blue M&Ms are arranged to spell out  _Happy Birthday Nicole_.

 

Jeremy sings "Happy Birthday" louder than anyone else as you set the cake down in front of Nicole. The alcohol she's had has given her cheeks a light flush and her eyes are just slightly unfocused, but she brightens visibly when she sees her cake.

 

She blows out her candles and sneaks a taste of the frosting on one fingertip--then takes more and rubs it onto the tip of your nose, which makes you giggle.

 

"How did you know?" You hear her from behind, as you've retreated to the kitchen to slice up the cake.

 

"Hm?" you respond, half-hearted as you carefully lift a piece of cake onto a paper plate.

 

"Blue M&Ms. My favorite color and food." You feel Nicole's arms wrap around your middle and her chin settle on your shoulder. You place the knife safely on the table and lick a crumb off of your thumb, turning around in her arms to face her. "How did you know?"

 

You smile. "Remember that day in the diner? Over milkshakes?" Nicole smiles in recognition, nodding slowly. "I asked, silly!"

 

Nicole presses a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you, Waverly. This has been an amazing birthday." She leans down to kiss your lips. "And I do remember that day. I kept the receipt."

 

Which, of course.

 

"I knew it!" You grin, because,  _Nicole_. "You keep tokens. I keep facts." Nicole inches forward again, and you press your smile to hers before pulling away abruptly. "And by the way," you say, grin turning wicked. "I  _may_ have figured out how to make edible underwear out of blue M &Ms."

 

Nicole's smile? Even more devious than yours. "Happy birthday to me,  _indeed_." 

 


	9. 'cause you can see it when i look at you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly Earp has a tell, and you totally use it against her.
> 
> OR 
> 
> Nicole and Waverly are cute and just a little sexy. Featuring an awkward WynDolls moment

 Waverly Earp has a tell.

 

You figured it out early on, before things were real, and you two were still dancing around each other and the what-ifs. 

 

Honestly, with how close they are, you're surprised Wynonna doesn't see it. Detecting has never been her strong suit, but you didn't realize how  _oblivious_ she was until you and Waverly started dating (read: sneaking around).

 

Anyway.

 

Waverly Earp has a tell, and you  _totally_ use it against her.

 

It all started that day in the bar, when she covered herself with beer and then  _disrobed_. She kept biting the inside of her bottom lip, scanning your face. She was flustered, sure, and sticky and wet and cold. But she kept glancing to your mouth and chewing on that lip.

 

In the station those few weeks later, when she finally tells you she's ready for things to move forward, she plants that beautiful soft kiss to your lips and then gives you that pretty, pretty speech again. And still, she chews that bottom lip.

 

You figure it out quickly, after that: when Waverly Earp wants to kiss you, she chews her bottom lip. It expands as your relationship grows over time, and you two  _do things_ and have firsts and get to know each other, but the tell always stays the same.

 

When Waverly Earp is thinking  _naughty thoughts_ about you, she chews on her bottom lip.

 

You start to spend more time at the homestead with the sisters as spring and summer roll around. You take to doing household chores, cleaning with Waverly or doing laundry with Waverly or washing dishes with Waverly. But cleaning is easy, and Dolls and Doc both don't know how to work the lawnmower in the tool shed, so you become the Earp homestead landscaper.

 

Every Saturday morning--your day off--you mow the two acres of land the house is situated on. It's an automatic lawnmower, so it doesn't take much longer than a couple of hours, and Waverly gives you cold lemonade when you come inside.

 

Sometimes, Waverly will sit on the porch, sipping an iced tea and watching you. It all feels very  _Gone With The Wind_ , with your sweet not-so-southern belle watching you work. 

 

One day, she's fanning herself with an old magazine and her lemonade sits empty on the ground beside her chair. Waverly watches you drive the lawnmower back to the shed, and when you walk up the steps to the porch, you see she's biting her lip. 

 

You smirk, wiping sweat from your brow. "Well, howdy, ma'am," you say, faking a thick Southern accent. "It sure is mighty hot out here."

 

Waverly giggles. "Oh, somethin's hot out here, alright," she murmurs, chewing on her lip again. There are sunglasses over her eyes, so you can't see what she's looking at, but you flex your bare arms as you rest your hands against your hips and hear Waverly gasp.

 

You swagger up to Waverly's chair, stopping in front of her and leaning down to rest your hands on the wooden arms. The hem of your tank top across your chest droops with gravity, and Waverly chews harder on her lip. "See somethin' you want?" you tease, voice low and husky. You're still faking that accent, and you smirk when Waverly visibly trembles.

 

Waverly growls. "Wynonna  _and_ Dolls are here, and you're being mean." You lean forward to kiss Waverly's frown sweetly. "How'd you even  _know_ , anyway?"

 

You stand up, reaching out a hand to help Waverly out of her chair, and you don't let go. "I just know you really well, Waves," you say, matter-of-fact. You suppress a snort.

 

You walk into the kitchen to find Dolls and Wynonna locked in a heated embrace. She's resting on the kitchen table, and he's pressed to the V of her thighs, shirtless, his fingers running through her hair. When you make eye contact with Waverly, she waggles her eyebrows, tugging you towards the stairs and biting her lip.

 

You don't waste any energy arguing  _that_ less-than-subtle signal. 

 


	10. you're a carousel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You totally should've expected this.
> 
> OR
> 
> Waverly and Nicole go to the carnival

You  _totally_ should've expected this.

 

It's  _Waverly_ and a  _carnival_. Waverly, with her unending childlike joy and overwhelming positivity. And a carnival, the breeding ground for happiness and wonder.

 

She's exhaustingly excited, fueled by sugar and wonder, and you spend most of the night chasing her around. She even drags you into a bounce house, which, well, if she wasn't  _Waverly_ there's no way you would've agreed to it. 

 

She  _boops_ you on the nose with a cotton candy and you kiss the sugar-laced giggle off her lips.

 

While the sun is still up, you manage to convince Waverly to play some of the carnival games and give you a break from the bounce house. You play the basketball-shooting game, and since you've still  _got it_ , you manage to win her a giant stuffed teddy bear. Waverly squeals when you hand it to her, wrapping her arms around it and you with force.

 

Waverly drags you around almost every booth at the carnival by the time the sun sets. Whoever's set up the carnival strung fairy lights throughout, so that when night begins to settle, there's a firefly-yellow glow over the grounds. Children are still running around, screaming, and the teenagers have emerged clutching brown paper bags that you'd confiscate if you weren't blissfully off duty. In the summer evening, Waverly's unblemished skin shimmers, and you catch yourself spacing out watching her impossibly long legs.

 

The only thing Waverly doesn't  _insist_ upon is the carousel. Which, well, you're surprised. It's about an hour before the carnival is set to close, and you're tossing empty paper cups that once held hot cocoa into the trash. "Ready to go, baby?" Waverly says, taking your free hand between hers and fiddling with your fingers.

 

You turn to face her, watching as the light catches on her eyelashes, and you feel a warm feeling settle in your belly. "What about the carousel, babe?"

 

Waverly shrugs, non-committal.  _That's weird_. "I'm okay."

 

You reach up and rest your thumb against the curve of Waverly's cheekbone, looking carefully at her face through your eyelashes. "Hey," you murmur, coaxing her to meet your gaze. "What's wrong with the carousel?"

 

You don't mean to push, but Waverly had been  _so excited_ about the carnival. She'd said she wanted to do  _everything_ , and, well, the carousel is a  _thing_. "I'm just not a big carousel fan." Waverly shrugs again, looking down at the ground. She nuzzles her cheek further into your palm and you grin.

 

 _Swoon_ , because, well,  _Waverly_. "Baby?" you ask, voice carefully light. "Are you afraid of the carousel?"

 

Waverly's cheeks flush ever so slightly in the dim lighting. "Willa," she offers, and you know immediately. 

 

"'Nuff said," you say. You're careful to modulate your voice away from a growl. It's hard to pretend you don't still despise Willa, even though she's already been gone for so long, but you know that Waverly is still struggling with how she feels about her sister. "What if we do it together?"

 

Waverly brightens carefully. "Really? You want to ride the carousel together?" She looks as you, head tilted and brow furrowed like a confused puppy, like she's waiting for a punchline that isn't coming.

 

"Of course," you murmur. "I'd do anything with you." 

 

Waverly  _beams_. "Okay," she says. She leads you to the carousel line, and when you're able to board the ride, Waverly picks two horses next to each other. She refuses to let go of your hand the whole time, even when she laughs freely as the ride spins and the horses rise and fall.

 

Your mama used to tell you that people accept the love they think they deserve. Waverly, you think, accepts whatever scraps of love come her way, however minuscule and inconsequential. Waverly is constantly shocked by how readily you show you love her, from kissing her softly in her bedroom to listening to her ramble about a case, to riding a carnival ride with her, and your heart breaks and breaks for her. You think Waverly is so used to being forgotten that she doesn't remember what it feels like to have someone put her first. Willa, Wynonna, her parents, even Champ, all given chances to show Waverly she matters.

 

All of them failed.

 

Looking at Waverly now, eyes shining in the flashing carousel lights and soft breeze rustling her hair, you think you'd readily spend the rest of your life showing Waverly the kind of love she deserves. 

 


	11. you're a wishing well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's your first night off in forever and Wynonna is dragging Waverly to the next town over for a night of sisterly bonding.
> 
> OR
> 
> Drunk Waverly is a precious baby

It's your first night off in  _forever_ and Wynonna is dragging Waverly to the next town over for a night of sisterly bonding.

 

 _Tonight_ of all nights. 

 

"Baby, please, you can't get out of this?" you'd begged as you left the station for the night. It had been a long day and you were  _really_ looking forward to curling your body into Waverly's in front of a shitty movie you're both not watching. 

 

Waverly whines back at you into the phone. "I'm _sorry_ , baby, Wynonna insisted upon it. She pulled the I-saved-you-from-our-evil-sister card, and, really, what can I say to that?"

 

You roll your eyes, though you know Waverly can't see you. "Ugh," you grunt, " _fine_. Do you know how late you'll be out?"

 

"Wynonna wants to make a night of it, but I'll give her a hard curfew of 12:30. Does that work?"

 

You hum into the receiver, pretending to think it over. "Hm. I guess that's okay, but only if you promise to come _straight over_ to my place after."

 

Waverly giggles, and you remember that it's your favorite sound in the world. "Sure thing, baby. Sounds like a plan."

 

* * *

 

You're warm and comfortable, wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa when you hear a knock on the door. It's a few minutes after midnight, so when you open the front door to find Waverly on the front porch swaying unsteadily, you're more than a little surprised.

 

"Baby!" You quickly wrap an arm around Waverly's waist to keep her from falling over. "I thought you'd still be out with Wynonna?"

 

You lead Waverly into the living room, carefully maneuvering around Calamity Jane asleep on the rug. "I made her come back early!" Waverly exclaims too loudly. She leans into the back of the couch as she watches you settle next to her through bleary eyes. "I _missed_ you!"

 

You smile. Drunk Waverly is warm as melted chocolate, affectionate and needy and adorable in the best ways. "I missed you too, baby," you murmur, brushing a stray lock of hair out of Waverly's eyes. "Did you have fun with Wynonna?"

 

Waverly nods emphatically. Her whole body shakes with the force, throwing her off balance and into your lap, giggling. "There was a p--a  _pond_ at the place we went to!" Waverly hiccups adorably.

 

"A pond?"

 

Waverly nods. "Yeah! And people were throwin'  _money_ into it! And there's a sign, and i'said 'make a  _wish_.'" You nod with her, listening to her story and struggling valiantly to decipher her slurred speech. When Waverly reaches a hand up to your face, she misses and instead settles it against your breastbone, and your tummy warms. Her skin is hot and a little bit clammy, but soft as ever, and you wrap a hand around her wrist to hold her there. "Wan-know what I wish't for?" she asks.

 

You nod. "Yeah, baby. What'd you wish for?"

 

Waverly leans in close, like it's a secret she wants to protect. "I wish't I'd get to love you forever and ever," she stage-whispers behind her hand. She pulls back, eyes twinkling and smile gentle on her face.

 

Your heart flutters and flutters under her palm. "Yeah?" you ask, because sometimes you  _still_ can't believe that you've made it to this place with her.

 

Waverly nods. "Mhm. Because I  _love_ you, baby, for always. Right?" Waverly suddenly looks nervous, and you remember that beneath the confidence and brilliance and sweetness, Waverly is still that terrified little girl that suddenly found herself alone in Purgatory.

 

You wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her close. "Of course, Waves," you say, brushing your fingers through her hair. She shifts and presses further into you, humming--you know she loves when you scratch her scalp--until you two settle on the couch, one on top of the other. Waverly is a calm, warm weight on your body, and you feel her breath even out against your shoulder. 

 

You know Waverly will wake you again at some ungodly hour, hangover-raddled and shivering without her four blankets. You'll stretch your sore back and discretely cover a drool patch on your shoulder as you follow her cranky little body to your bedroom, and you'll pull her body close to yours under the safety of your fluffy comforter, rubbing the ache from her head. She'll hum against you, and you'll wish for the thousandth time that this is your forever, too. 

 


	12. and you light me up when you ring my bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You discover the guitar completely by accident.
> 
> OR
> 
> Nicole plays an instrument, and it GETS to Waverly

You've always loved music. Growing up listening to Uncle Curtis on the piano, cheerleading in high school and singing alone in your bedroom. Music makes you feel  _alive_ , and there's music for your every mood.

 

Nicole knows how much you love music. She lets you mess with the radio in her patrol car when you're with her, lets you sing loudly in the shower in her house, and  _lord knows_ she loves watching you dance.

 

You discover the guitar completely by accident.

 

You were fiddling in the pantry, looking for a nice healthy snack for the two of you. It's a cold, snowy Sunday, one of Nicole's rare Sundays off, and the two of you are hiding away in her house. You emerge with a bag full of trail mix and see a nondescript black case tucked away in the corner of the laundry room, and the  _natural-born investigator_ in you decides to check it out.

 

"Babe?" you call, dragging the case into the kitchen. "What's this?"

 

Nicole looks up from the crossword puzzle she's filling out at the kitchen table. "Oh, that's my dad's old crafter. Where'd you find that?" She puts down her pen and walks over to you, the long t-shirt she's wearing drifting over her thighs. You not-so-secretly love these hidden days with Nicole, and often force the two of you to remain in various states of undress. 

 

You pass the guitar case to Nicole and watch her open it up to reveal a beautiful acoustic guitar. The wood is a deep tan, shining in the light of the kitchen. Nicole pulls it out and settles the strap over her shoulder, strumming the strings with familiarity. "You, uh, play guitar?" you ask, pointing dumbly. You don't know why your mouth is suddenly so dry.

 

Nicole nods, not looking up from the guitar. She fiddles with the tuning pegs, strumming every now and again to check the tuning of the strings, before finally settling her fingers over the neck agains the fingerboard. "My dad taught me when I was a kid, and then he gave me one of his guitars when he and my mom moved down to South Carolina from the old house." She finally looks up at you, grinning. "Want me to play you something?"

 

You whimper, flushing red at the sound, and simply nod so your traitorous lips don't betray you further. 

 

Nicole playing acoustic guitar for you, with no pants and messy bed-head hair quickly becomes your most favorite thing ever. The muscles in her forearm flex with every stroke, and her body sways to the tempo of whatever song she's chosen. She's beautifully in-sync with the guitar, as though they're old friends. She shifts her weight and taps her toes against the hardwood floor, closing her eyes. 

 

She finally finishes playing, rubbing her fingertips against the body of the guitar as the last few notes bounce off of the strings. She looks at you with that perfect smile, and something inside you snaps.

 

"Nicole," you mutter, taking a slow, deliberate step towards her. "Put the guitar away."

 

She gulps, clocking the predatory gleam in your eye and obeying.

 

"Good," you say, reaching out and grabbing her wrist. "Now take me upstairs and show me  _what else_ you can do with those fingers."

 

The smirk on Nicole's face is deliciously wicked as she pulls you in a light jog towards the stairs to her bedroom.

 

 


	13. you're a mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waverly has all of these little quirks about her that, while they're interesting, sure, you love them.
> 
> OR
> 
> Waverly constantly interrupts Things™ for some unknown reason.

Waverly has all of these little quirks about her that, while they're _interesting_ , sure, you love them. Example? Being a polgylot. That's rare. Quirky.

 

It's also extremely disciplined and difficult and takes some  _serious_ intelligence, and  _damn_ if that's not sexy as all hell.

 

But, anyway.

 

The greatest gift the powers-that-be ever gave you was a sex life with Waverly Earp. She's gorgeous and giving and open, and a  _fast_ learner. She makes all of these beautiful sounds and movements and soft breaths and sweet words, whispers in your ear that your  _hers_ and she  _likes_  what you're doing and how you feel and--

 

\--well, yeah. But none of that's quirky.

 

No, what's  _quirky_ is that, once things settled down a little bit more--the pregnancy, Waverly's recent exorcism--and you were able to get comfortable with one another, Waverly was insistent about music.

 

She keeps her cell phone on her nightstand at pretty much all times, and she would stop you in the middle of Things™ so that she could put some music on softly in the background. You think that she has a handful of favorite songs that she reserves for Things™, because you hear a lot of repeats that you know she isn't queuing up on Spotify in her Jeep.

 

"Hey, Wave," you ask, settling back into bed one night. The music has long since been turned off, you've dressed in soft pajamas and brushed your teeth. Waverly is half-heartedly reading some paperback she keeps on her nightstand for before bed, and she lowers it from her face when she hears you. 

 

"Yeah?" she responds. Her hair is tangled up in a knot on her head, and you have to climb over her to settle on your side of the bed--you love that you've been doing this long enough that you have  _sides_ \--so you place a quick kiss on her hairline. 

 

"What's with the music?" You settle under the covers and lean back into your pillow, watching Waverly's face carefully. 

 

You know that she knows what you're talking about--music becoming an integral part of Things™--because the muscle in her jaw that you love flexes. You see a light flush creep over her cheeks, and you watch her eyes flit around the room, everywhere but at you, as she desperately thinks of something to say. Though you have no idea why. You're just curious.

 

"Um," Waverly's breath hitches. "Music?"

 

The inflection in her voice is too strong--you know she's full of it--and you smile because Waverly's  _adorable_ when she's flustered. "Come on, baby. Be a team player," you joke.

 

Waverly rolls her eyes and sighs. "Fine." You watch her dog-ear her book and place it on the nightstand before turning over onto her side to face you. She settles with her palm on her pillow and her cheek resting on her hand. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheek and you're struck with the sudden need to feel them against your skin. "You're going to think it's stupid."

 

You frown at that. "When," you ask, "have I  _ever_ thought anything you did, thought, felt, or said was  _stupid_?" You shift and squirm down the bed so that you're matching Waverly's position to make her feel more safe. You reach over with your free hand and move a piece of hair out of Waverly's face, fumbling against her cheek to make her laugh. 

 

It works, and Waverly grins. "Remember you said that," she says, eyes twinkling, and then she takes a steadying breath. "Okay, um. I like to have music, you know,  _during_ , because I like to have a rhythm."

 

You tilt your chin to the side, brow furrowing in confusion. "Rhythm," you repeat, trying to understand and failing. 

 

"Yeah," Waverly says. "Rhythm."

 

You've passed that word back and forth now, and it's no more clear to you. So you say so. Waverly snorts. "Out with it, you." Your voice is mirthful and you feel the humor in your eyes as you speak, and Waverly smiles harder at you. You lean forward to kiss the tip of her nose because you can.

 

"Okay, okay." She looks away from you, her body tightening in on itself almost imperceptibly with nerves. You notice, though. You always notice with Waverly.

 

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" You take her hand gently in yours and press a kiss to her palm. "But that you also don't have to tell me  _everything_."

 

Waverly smiles. "I know. It's okay, it's not a big deal." She rubs her thumb over the apple of your cheek, and you lean your face into her hand as she pulls it away. "You know how I danced?" You nod. "Right. Well, music during-- _during_ makes it easier for me to find, like,  _rhythm_. You know,  _during_."

 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Oh."

 

"Yeah." Waverly clears her throat. "I've always thought about sex like a dance, you know? Communicating with your body, learning how to read someone else's movements. Having music and rhythm just makes it  _easier_ for me to do that  _during_. Communicate and learn."

 

You feel your eyes melting as you listen, and you know when Waverly looks back at your face, when she's feeling less vulnerable, she'll see sunshine pouring from your smile. It's so  _Waverly_ , to approach sex with such practicality, and your heart beats around in your chest like batwings. 

 

"You're smiling at me," Waverly so  _astutely_ observes. 

 

Your smile deepens, and Waverly reaches out to rub her forefinger over one of your dimples. "You're a mystery, Waverly Earp," you say, inching closer. "But you're an  _adorable_ mystery. And I love you."

 

You press a kiss to the tip of Waverly's nose again, and you feel the tension and awkwardness melt out of her muscles and bones. "I love you too," she sighs against your lips. 

 

"And that  _totally_ wasn't stupid." You shrug. "We should make a sex playlist." 

 

Waverly waggles her eyebrows and smirks. "I already have one."

 

 


	14. you're from outer space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time you spend the night at Nicole's place, you're unbearably nervous about it.
> 
> OR
> 
> Waverly sleeps at Nicole's apartment for the first time and they're just so cute about it

The first time you spend the night at Nicole's place, you're unbearably nervous about it.

 

You hadn't planned on it. She invited you over for a nice, homemade dinner and a movie, and far be it from you to refuse something that sounds so nice.

 

Purgatory's winter weather is a fickle bitch, you've realized. So when the thunder and lightning start, you don't think much of it. It rains all the time. 

 

But then Nicole's phone rings.

 

"Officer Haught." You can't hear the other side of the conversation, but you can tell by the low, even register of Nicole's voice that it's Nedley. "No, sir. Yes, sir. Alright, sir. Same to you, sir." She hangs up.

 

"Everything okay?" you ask. You're standing at the sink rinsing the plates off the wine glasses out, placing each item of flatware and silverware in the dishwasher carefully and with perfect, even spacing.

 

Nicole nods and walks over to you. "Nedley wanted to know if I was still in the station. Apparently it's hailing outside, and a tree is down on the main road through town."  _The one you'd use to take home_ , Nicole doesn't say.

 

You look over to her quickly. "Oh." She looks warily at you, watching your face for signs of nerves, and you rush to reassure her. "That's okay, right? I can just sleep on, um, the couch or something after the movie and go home in the morning."

 

Nicole looks down at her hands with a small grin. She's picking at her chipping nail polish--a habit you both took from Wynonna--and she blushes. "Or," she says, walking towards you. She reaches a hand out and pulls you towards her with one of the belt loops on your jeans. "You could sleep with me in the bedroom." 

 

It sounds lovely, really. Going to sleep beside Nicole and waking up to see the early morning sunlight shimmering off of her beautiful red hair. But it makes you nervous. Sharing a space so intimate comes with, well,  _expectations_ , and everything is still so new to you. 

 

You haven't said anything just yet, but Nicole is intuitive and seems to hear your thoughts before you verbalize them. " _Just_ sleep, Waves," she murmurs, reaching up to touch your cheek. "I'd never try to push you into anything before you're ready." 

 

You release a sigh, relieved. "Okay." 

 

Nicole takes your still-wet hand. "Okay, then, it's settled." She smiles and it sets butterflies loose in your chest. "Hey, how about we go get into comfy clothes and set up that movie? You can borrow some PJs."

 

You're suddenly tired. Willa being back and Wynonna's sudden lack of interest in you because of that has been weighing heavily on your heart and shoulders and mind for the last few days, coupled with the fact that you still don't know if you  _like_ Willa. And that makes you feel guilty. 

 

Nothing sounds better to you than changing into a set of soft, worn pajamas that smell like Nicole and snuggling up to her on the couch beneath a few blankets--which she'll kick off of herself after a few minutes anyway--in front of a crappy movie. 

 

You smile. "I'd love to."

 

Nicole leads you down the hallway and into her bedroom. She walks over to a tall chest of drawers and bends to the second one from the bottom. In one hand she pulls out a pair of black pants with a design you can't see, and a grey t-shirt that says "Warrior Woman" in all caps across the front. You smile because it's so very Nicole to have something like that. In the other, you see she has red flannel pants and a white tank top.

 

She presents both of her hands to you. "Pick one."

 

You take the "Warrior Woman" pile and she shows you to the bathroom so you can change. You take in the shampoo and conditioner, various soaps and loofas in her shower, and the comb resting on the counter by the sink beside a green toothbrush. Being in the intimate parts of Nicole's home makes you feel warm and safe. You like getting to see what she sees first thing in the morning and right before she goes to sleep.

 

You come out and see Nicole in her pajamas and she smiles. "What?"

 

Nicole shakes her head. "I didn't realize which pants I'd grabbed for you." She half-heartedly points to your pants and you look down. Smiling stars and planets and moons dance down your legs, and you grin. "Those are my favorite."

 

You look back up. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to switch, or--"

 

Nicole cuts you off, walking towards you and placing her hands on your waist. "No, no." She kisses your forehead. "They look better on you anyway."

 

You snort. "I bet they don't." Nicole's much taller than you, and the hems of the pant legs drag on the ground, so you rolled the waist a few times so you could wear them comfortably low on your hips without ruining the bottoms. "I bet they at least  _fit_ you."

 

Nicole's eyes are rippling pools of hazel, melting as she looks at your face. "I'll pick up some smaller pants for the future," she says. Like it's the easiest thing in the world.

 

Later, when you're curled together on the couch and running your fingers lightly over Nicole's forearm because you know it relaxes her, you think that this  _is_ the easiest thing in the world. 

 


	15. you're every minute of my every day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have had a morning.
> 
> OR
> 
> Nicole is having a bad morning, so Waverly tries to cheer her up.

You have had a  _morning._

 

Calamity Jane must've eaten something last night, because when you woke up, she was getting sick all over the living room, so now the first floor of the house  _stinks_. You sent Waverly a snapchat of you frowning, cleaning kitty-puke before even getting to brush your teeth. 

 

The response you get from her--still in bed, wild hair against her pillow and smile in her sleep-heavy eyes--made you feel a little lighter, you won't lie.

 

But that was just the beginning.

 

You run out of Keurig cups suddenly, so no coffee this morning, and you spill your yogurt in your lap in the car ride over to the station, so now there's a yucky-smelling stain right on top of your thigh. Your computer freezes in the office, and someone has been stealing your pens on your days off, so you have nothing to fill paperwork out with and Nedley gives you shit for it.

 

By lunch time, you're pretty much  _over_ this day.

 

You send Waverly periodic updates on snapchat and respond to her when you can, but you don't like to be on your phone that much at work because you don't want to be distracted.

 

Waverly's had much more free time, though, since she quit Shorty's.

 

Every few minutes, you hear your phone vibrate in its drawer, but you're careful not to check it.

 

At lunch time, you unlock your phone to find thirty unread text messages from Waverly.

 

 _ **Waves**_   _(09:43 AM)_ : damn baby ur having a rough day huh??

 

 _ **Waves** (09:52 AM)_ : oh i forgot u never check ur phone @ work

 

 _ **Waves** (10:01 AM)_ : baby i have a truly brilliant plan to make you smile!! :):)

 

 _ **Waves**_ _(10:01 AM)_ : reasons why i love nicole haught: a text novel by waverly earp

 

 _ **Waves**_ _(10:01 AM)_ : :):)

 

 _ **Waves** (10:02 AM):_ first ur sooooo pretty!

 

 _ **Waves**_ _(10:02 AM)_ : i mean obvs i don't just love you for that but it's important!!1!

 

 _ **Waves**_ _(10:05 AM)_ : number 2: ur funny and u make me laugh

 

 _ **Waves**_ _(10:06 AM)_ : reason number 3: wynonna will never admit it but she really likes u and thats amazing

 

 _ **Waves** (10:10 AM)_ : 4) ur smart

 

 _ **Waves** (10:10 AM)_ : that one is short but its tru

 

 _ **Waves** (10:14 AM)_ : um 5) ur pretty pretty smile

 

 _ **Waves** (10:16 AM)_ : addendum: ur pretty pretty smile AND dimples :):)

 

 _ **Waves** (10:17 AM)_ : u hav the best smile baby :)

 

 _ **Waves** (10:22 AM)_ : number 6) u know where my favorite spot on my neck is to hav kissed ;)

 

 _ **Waves** (10:23 AM)_ : or was that number 7??

 

 _ **Waves** (10: 25 AM)_ : number idk: ur so soft and i like soft things

 

 _ **Waves** (10:26 AM)_: seriously baby u have the softest skin ever and i love it

 

 _ **Waves** (10:30 AM)_: and u

 

 _ **Waves**_ _(10:30 AM)_ : as in and i love u

 

 _ **Waves** (10:35 AM)_ : reason number 1856486 that i love u: u won't be mad when u see all of these notifications

 

 _ **Waves** (10:38 AM)_ : at least i hope not

 

 _ **Waves** (10:40 AM)_ : plz don't be mad about all of these notifications

 

 _ **Waves** (10:41 AM)_ : i just hav a lot of reasons for loving u

 

 _ **Waves** (10:43 AM)_ : did i mention ur really pretty??

 

 _ **Waves** (10:44 AM)_ : bc ur soooo pretty

 

 _ **Waves** (10:45 AM)_ : like the prettiest ever baby

 

 _ **Waves** (10:51 AM)_ : ok i think this is enough texts baby

 

 _ **Waves** (10:53 AM)_ : and i just decided to bring u lunch today so i'll see u soon :):)

 

 _ **Waves** (10:56 AM)_ : in case it wasn't super obvs i love u :) <3

 

You finally reach the end of her messages and the smile on your face is so strong your cheeks are starting to hurt. Waverly Earp has you grinning like fool and your heart fluttering right out of your chest. You send her a snapchat of your dopey smile with the caption "i love you too baby!!!" and doodle a heart around your face for good measure.

 

You type out some quick texts as you walk to the bathroom:

 

 _ **Me** (11:04 AM)_ : ur the cutest thing ever waves

 

 _ **Me** (11:04 AM)_ : and i love u soooo much baby

 

 _ **Me** (11:05 AM)_ : and i'll never be mad about a bunch of messages from u!!

 

 _ **Me** (11:05 AM)_ : can't wait to see u :) <3

 

 _ **Me** (11:05 AM)_ : i love u :)

 


	16. and i can't believe that i'm your [girl]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It started with one sneeze--one measly sneeze--and before the day is done you're coughing up both lungs and Nedley says don't come back until you can breathe again, girl. 
> 
> OR
> 
> Nicole gets sick and Waverly takes good care of her best baby.

You've always believed in mind over matter when it comes to pain and illness. Plus, you drink a lot of orange juice. So you, like,  _never_ get sick. 

 

Purgatory changes that. Purgatory changes a lot of things.

 

It started with one sneeze--one  _measly_ sneeze--and before the day is done you're coughing up both lungs and Nedley says  _don't come back until you can breathe again, girl_. 

  

You text Waverly on your way out of the station and you bump into the wall next to the doorway to the bullpen  _hard_ , suddenly dizzy, when your phone rings. 

 

"Hello?" you croak, bringing it to your ear. You cough and grimace, making a mental note to rub your phone with a disinfectant wipe at home.

 

"Ew, baby, you sound terrible." Waverly's voice is gentle and concerned, but she punctuates her response with an audible  _blech_ and you scowl.

 

"Oh, really? I thought I looked and sounded like a Victoria's Secret Model."

 

Waverly giggles, and you're smiling before you even realize it. "Hey now. A little walking pneumonia doesn't effect your hot ass, pun intended." You snort. "When you get in the car, feel free to leave that sass in the parking lot, Officer."

 

You walk out the front door of the station, confused, until you see Waverly parked just outside in her red Jeep. You hang up your phone and put it in your pocket, wrapping your arms around yourself against the cold. "What are you doing here?" you ask through a smile.

 

Waverly waves a hand towards the station. "Nedley called and said you were turning his station into the second coming of swine flu." She sees your unamused look. "His words, not mine," she says, hands raised by her face.

 

You feel a tickle in your throat that launches you into a coughing fit, wracking your entire body and making your head throb. When you look up again, Waverly is pouting at you. "My poor baby," she whines. "Come on, now, get in. Everything's all set up at the homestead."

 

"Homestead?" you ask. But you know better than to argue, so you slide into the passenger's side and lean heavily against the back of the seat, closing your eyes.

 

"Yep," Waverly chirps. She switches the gears and pulls out of the parking lot, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. "Calamity Jane is waiting for you."

 

* * *

 

Waverly ushers you through the front door with a gentle hand at your elbow. There's a pot of something that smells  _delicious_ boiling away on the stove, and Calamity Jane winds between your ankles when you walk into the foyer.

 

Waverly gives you a gentle nudge towards the stairs. "In my room you'll find the world's comfiest jammies--" you grin because Waverly's adorable--"and some vapor rub on the night stand." She crosses her arms over her chest. "You're not to get out of bed under any circumstances." You blink. "Well, except if you have to pee, or something. Please don't do that in my bed."

 

You're smile is starting to hurt your cheeks and you sniffle. "This is all really sweet, baby, but I don't want to get your room all germ-y." 

 

Waverly smiles, warm as melted chocolate. "I love you," she murmurs as she steps into your personal space, "and you're hurting. Rooms can be cleaned. Let me take care of you."

 

Your body feels heavy, your head hazy with stuffiness, dizziness and pain, and Waverly's sweet voice and smell and face are all way too tempting for you to argue any further. You kiss your fingertips and tap them against her forehead--you really don't want to be passing this cold between the two of you for the next forever--and turn to hobble up the stairs.

 

* * *

  

Waverly wasn't lying; these might be the softest, most comfortable  _jammies_ you've ever worn. Light flannel pants that somehow reach all the way down your legs, even though Waverly is at least six inches shorter than you, and a well-worn cotton t-shirt, wrapped up in a neat little bow at your waist over a fluffy blue bathrobe. 

 

There's a humidifier running in Waverly's room, making the air warm and comfortable, and at least half a dozen fluffy pillows piled up on Waverly's bed. You smear some vapor rub under your nostrils and inhale deeply, hoping to clear out your sinuses, and you catch a light whiff of lavender--Waverly's put oils in the humidifier--which makes you smile.

 

You crawl beneath Waverly's thick comforter and settle into the mattress. Your body feels cold and almost soggy, like an old wash cloth that's been wrung out too many times. You melt into the pillows, and you're asleep before you even know it.

 

* * *

 

 When you wake up, the sun is setting over the horizon, casting an orange glow through the windows in Waverly's bedroom. She's sitting at her desk against the wall reading a book using a dim lamp. 

 

You groan, sitting up, and Waverly startles. "Hi, pretty lady," you murmur thickly, voice hoarse with sleep. "What time is it?"

 

Waverly grins warmly at you. "Hi, sleepyhead. It's a little after five. You were out for almost two hours."

 

"Well damn. I guess I really  _am_ sick." 

 

Waverly snorts, rolling her eyes. "Okay, smartass. You want some chicken noodle soup?" 

 

Your mouth waters and, as if on cue, your belly rumbles. "That sounds amazing." When you move to get out of bed, Waverly stops you with a raised palm.

 

"Ah ah ah, what did I say?  _No moving_. I'll be right back with a bowl of soup and you'll eat it right here, got it?" 

 

You give her a quick salute, pressing the side of your hand to your forehead. "Yes, ma'am." Waverly nods, satisfied, and your chest feels warm. "Hey, Waves?" you call as she makes her way to the door.

 

"What's up?" She turns to look at you, and the golden sunlight falls on her face and hair and she's so beautiful it makes your entire body ache. 

 

"I love you."

 

"I love you, too, patient zero."

 

* * *

  

You and Calamity Jane spend three days in the homestead, and you argue with Waverly every hour like clockwork about how you don't want to be a mooch, you can help clean up, you're capable of eating in the kitchen. The only thing you don't fight her on is when she offers to draw you a bath, washing your hair with her own shampoo and conditioner and massaging your scalp. You pull her into the water in all of her clothes and she laughs and laughs.

 

The following Monday you're back at work, and you feel better than you have in  _months_. Nedley says  _thank the lord, these guys are idiots_ as he passes by your desk on his way to refill his coffee mug, and you flush and smile.

 

On your way home from work, you stop by the flower shop and pick out a huge bouquet of tulips in a handful of colors. You drive straight over to the homestead with your heart in your hands and a gentle smile on your lips.

 

Waverly opens the door a few seconds after your  _tap tap taptap tap_ knock. "Hi, baby!" she greets you. You thrust the flowers forward and she clocks them with a smile. "Aw, are these for me?"

 

"You took such good care of me," you say. Your voice is trembling and nervous and you're not sure why, but Waverly is smiling, smiling, smiling. "I'm so, so lucky to have you in my life. I don't want you to think I forgot that, or that I ever will."

 

Waverly's eyes are melting, and she's glancing between your face and the flowers like she can't believe you've done what you've done. (Really, it's just a bouquet of flowers, but you know Waverly isn't used to being put first or even  _thanked_ and you feel steely determination swell in your chest and your grip tighten around the flower stems.) "I love you," she murmurs in a light, surprised voice. She leans in to smell the flowers, and you boop her on the nose just to hear her giggle.

 

"I love you more."

 

"No, you don't."

 

"Fine. Agree to disagree, then."

 


	17. and i get to kiss you baby just because i can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You love waking up next to Nicole. She's all soft, warm skin, gentle breaths and loose, heavy limbs.
> 
> OR
> 
> Nicole is a precious, precious human bean

You used to  _hate_  frequent displays of affection. 

 

You used to get embarrassed in public and uncomfortable in private. Champ was sloppy and had little shame about where he put his hands and it made you feel vulnerable, like you'd left the house without pants on that morning. You thought it was just a  _thing_ for you, that you didn't like to be  _that_ couple. Mama and Daddy weren't particularly affectionate--you know, when Mama was still around and on the off-chance Daddy wasn't drunk as a skunk--when you were growing up, and you and Chrissy used to make fun of Stephanie and her flavor of the month making out agains the bleachers before cheerleading practice. 

 

You thought you'd feel the same way with Nicole. She set pretty strict rules about PDA in-uniform, of course. And she spent a pretty solid chunk of time licking her wounds about Black Badge. Plus, in the first few days after your exorcism--you don't know what else to call it, honestly--she flinched when you touched her. 

 

(You don't blame her because that was a scary ordeal for everyone, but it still stings when her eyes widen in fear before she recognizes you as  _you_ again.)

 

Winter is showing it's first signs of melting today, the sun out shining in a cloudless sky and the air having just a little bit less of the usual bone-chilling bite that is usually has. It's Sunday and Nicole can work from home today--she just has paperwork, bless you, Nedley--and she generously spent the night before in the homestead with you. She'd gotten off of her shift tired and achy and whining about driving around town until you offered to work the kinks in her back out with massage oils you ordered last summer.

 

Then, she'd driven right over.

 

You love waking up next to Nicole. She's all soft, warm skin, gentle breaths and loose, heavy limbs. You two are always touching throughout the night--her arm slung over your waist, your head on her shoulder, your legs tangled up with hers. Your curtains let in some of the morning light, which glances across Nicole's bare shoulders and illuminates her porcelain skin. You shift so that you're laying on your belly, raising your arm to rest your chin on top of it over her chest. Your skin brushes against hers gently, carefully, and you feel goosebumps erupt in her flesh.

 

Nicole wakes up slowly when she doesn't set an alarm. On work-days, her alarm is loud and abrupt and she bolts out of bed. You usually wake up fully when she's already dressed for the day, heading to the kitchen for a KIND bar and cup of coffee. Today isn't one of those days. You watch her feel your weight shift around her, drawing her out of sleep. Her eyes flutter and she sucks a good-morning-breath in through her nose and raises her arms above her head, scrunching her nose and lifting her shoulders in a stretch. She smiles when her sleepy eyes register you. "Good morning, baby," she mumbles, voice hoarse.

 

You feel your grin settle on your mouth. Nicole wraps her arms around your neck and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Hi," you say, carefully keeping your voice low. "I'm going to get up in a second, just hold on."

 

Nicole shakes her head gently. "No, don't rush." She runs her fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly just the way you like. You close your eyes and hum into the feeling. You both have early morning breath and your lips are a little bit chapped from the harsh, cold air, but when Nicole leans in to give you a gentle, quick peck on the lips, you can't think of a single reason not to do it again. 

 

So you do.

 

* * *

 

 

You manage to untangle your bodies after a few minutes--the sleep-taste in your mouth is gross--and you brush your teeth before sneaking to the kitchen to start up the Keurig and make coffees for you both. Nicole comes down after you, her hair knotted into a messy bun on top of her hair. She's slipped a fluffy bathrobe over her PJs, and she looks so warm and cozy standing next to the counter. 

 

You walk over and untie the robe, dipping your arms inside and wrapping them around her body. You sink into a hug and revel in the solid warmth her body provides. "I'll get off of you in a second," you say into Nicole's collar bone. "You're just so warm."

 

Nicole presses her fingers to your jaw so that she can look you in the eye. "No rush," she half-whispers through her smile. She leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

 

* * *

 

 

You do pull away eventually, the Keurig beeping at you that your coffee is ready. You grab the coconut milk from the 'fridge for you and the half-and-half for Nicole. She sits at the table with a pen between her lips and a stack of paperwork in front of her. 

 

You're careful to vacate the area for a little while. Nicole prefers to work in quiet--which is why you both have woken so early today--and you try to give her some space, shuffling to the laundry room to grab yours and Wynonna's clothes. 

 

A hand on your wrist stops you. Nicole pulls the pen from her teeth with her other hand and tugs on your arm, leading you closer to her. She lifts her face and presses against the back of your neck with her pen-hand, and you follow her hints to draw in for a kiss. You feel her smile against you, folding your lower lip between hers. You love easy morning kisses with Nicole, and when you pull back, you see a light flush on her cheeks and you're sure you have it, too.

 

* * *

 

 

You're perched on the couch in the living room, folding laundry and sorting piles of clothes--Wynonna's shirts, pants, and underwear, and yours--when you feel hands snake around your shoulders. You jump--your back was to her and you didn't hear her pad into the room--before you smell her shampoo and the mint toothpaste you share.

 

"Easy, baby," Nicole murmurs, "it's just me." 

 

You settle and smile, craning your neck awkwardly to try to look at her face. "Hi, baby. How goes the work?" 

 

Nicole leans so that she can look at your face, too. She has light puffiness under her eyes--she must have a headache from leaning over papers and reading all of the fine print, poor thing--but there's a soft smile on her lips. "Needed a break," she says. You watch her eyes flit from yours to your lips and your tongue pokes out to wet them subconsciously. Nicole's eyes flash when she sees and she leans forward quickly for a longer, deeper kiss than the others.

 

Nicole sucks your bottom lip between hers and swipes it with her tongue. You think she must taste your cocoa butter chapstick, and when you pull back slightly between kisses you can taste her hazelnut coffee. She follows you when you lean away for air, nibbling on your lower lip playfully. 

 

It works and you giggle. "What was that for?" you ask. "Not that I'm complaining." You smirk, eyes narrow but voice coy.

 

Nicole shrugs. "Just because I can," she says.

 

You lean forward to kiss her  _hard_ because, well, what else are you supposed to do when she says something so adorable?

 


	18. whatever comes our way (oh) we'll see it through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's happened before. It doesn't make it any less upsetting, but things like this have happened before and you know more or less how to handle yourself.
> 
> OR
> 
> Someone is a dick to Nicole, but she's more worried about how Waverly is going to react.

It's happened before. It doesn't make it any less upsetting, but things like this have happened before and you know more or less how to handle yourself.

 

You walk out of the station one day to drive to a deli in the next town over for lunch--they make the  _best_ tuna melts in the Ghost River Triangle--when you see it.

 

The windshield of your cruiser--you know it's yours because yours is the only one that has an air freshener, apple-cinnamon, hanging from the rearview mirror--is smashed and torn to pieces, the windows shattered and the hood of the car has been beaten and bent. The siren lights and the tail- and headlights are destroyed and all of the tires have been slashed about a half-dozen times each, you'd guess from looking at them. Whoever destroyed your car took the time to spray paint  _Dyke!_ and  _Leave Waverly alone!_ over the doors on either side of the car, and when you get close enough to see inside, you can make out that the upholstery has been ripped to shreds. 

 

Your cop instincts kick in immediately.

 

You don't waste time on anger and fear right now--that'll come later, when you're alone in your apartment and the sun has gone down. You pull your cell phone out of your pocket and take pictures from all angles, careful to maintain a nice distance from the car so as not to disturb the scene. You dial the number for the station and enter Nedley's extension as soon as you're prompted and explain what's happened in a calm, even tone. 

 

Nedley storms outside, face flushed with self-righteous anger and scowl firmly in place. He has crime scene tape in a roll in his hand and you help him block off the parking space so that evidence can be collected, and he shoos you inside to fill out some paperwork before dismissing you for the day.

 

"Sir, it's really not a big deal--"

 

"Hush, Haught. This is bullshit. Take the day to de-bullshit yourself." 

 

"But, sir--"

 

"No arguments."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

* * *

 

 

You're dreading calling Waverly and telling her about this. You think she's going to do one of two things, knowing Waverly: (1) she'll blow it out of proportion and go on a  _rampage_ , threatening to shoot and kill everyone in town, or (2) she'll get anxious and try to break up with you  _for your own good_ \--and how could losing her be for your own good?

 

So you go home. You take a long, hot shower to let the adrenaline and anger flush from your body; you were calculated at the station, clinical and careful and well-trained, but at home the injustice settles on you like a stuffy blanket and you feel trapped beneath it. You change into leggings and a comfortable sweater and make yourself hot cocoa and start a fire in the fireplace. You curl up with a crossword puzzle and your hot drink and Calamity Jane sits on the couch next to you, purring gently. She can always tell when it's been a rough day, and you're thankful for her presence even though she isn't who you  _really_ want (sorry, Calamity).

 

Your phone rings on the coffee table, a snapchat from Waverly, and you respond without thinking about it. You admit, it was pretty dumb.

 

She calls you not two minutes later.

 

"Hello?" You hold the phone between your shoulder and ear, putting your mug back down after taking a long sip.

 

"Why are you at home?" Waverly's voice is rushed and breathy and nervous, and you realize she recognizes your blue walls as not-the-station's-walls.  _Oops_. "Are you hurt?"

 

 _Aw, Waves_. "No, no, baby, nothing like that. Nedley dismissed me early." You hear her release a heavy breath into the receiver and you smile. "It was kind of a rough day, though. Any interest in coming over? I'll tell you all about it."

 

There's a smile in Waverly's voice when she responds. "Always interested in coming to you. I'll be over in ten."

 

* * *

 

 

You know Waverly will have questions when she sees the unmarked car parked in your driveway instead of your standard-issue cruiser. She's smart--you think she'll start to put the pieces together before she's even knocked on the door.

 

 _Tap tap tap tap tap tap_ \--Waverly doesn't do your normal pattern and you know she's anxious again. When you open the door, she's standing on the porch with her hand raised to knock again. She has those snowboots with the furry pom poms on, and they should be ugly as all heck but on Waverly they're sinfully adorable and you smile. "Hi, Waves."

 

"What happened to your car?" Waverly asks, brushing past you into the house. "Did you get into an accident or something?"

 

You close the door and take a breath. Waverly is murderously protective of the people she loves-- _especially you,_ you think with an inward smile--and you're nervous for how she'll react. She stalks into the kitchen after shedding her coat and starts up the keurig, putting a hot cocoa pod into the chamber and closing it roughly.

 

"If you lie to me, Nicole Haught," she starts, still facing away from you. "You know there will be  _consequences_." Her voice is light but her eyes are wide and nervous, and you watch them skitter over your body, looking for bruises and cuts and damage. 

 

"I would never," you say, because it's the truth, and Waverly gives you a small, gentle grin. "It's being handled, but, yes, something happened today and that's why I'm off early. But before you ask--" you hastily throw a hand up, stopping whatever words she has at the ready in her throat, "--no one was hurt, and I'm totally fine."

 

Waverly nods. "Okay. So what happened then?" Her eyebrows draw in and furrow, and she's so adorable that you walk up and kiss her forehead just because. 

 

"Someone vandalized my cruiser."

 

Waverly's eyes go comically wide and her jaw drops. "Badly?"

 

You nod. "The car is trashed and there were some--" you pause, swallow "--not-so-nice things spray painted on the side."

 

Waverly frowns. "It better not be what I think it was." Again, you nod, and Waverly is  _outraged_. "What the  _fuck_ , Nicole?!" She reaches across the countertop and grabs your cell phone, unlocking it with the passcode--it's her birthday, and you know it makes her heart warm whenever she uses it, or sees you using it, because you know her birthday and for Waverly that's  _so_ important--and tapping the Photos app open. 

 

Apparently, she knows you too well. She sees the pictures of the cruiser that you took, the damage and the insult and even her name, and her face squishes up in anguish. "Oh, baby," she breathes out, "I'm so  _sorry_."

 

" _You_ have nothing to be sorry for." You grin softly because it's true and seeing Waverly look so guilty for something she's totally incapable of makes your chest feel sore. "You didn't do anything except be your generally-amazing self. It's not your fault or mine that the town crazies fell in love with you, too."

 

"But--" 

 

"But nothing," you say. You smile again and wrap your arms more solidly around Waverly's waist. The keurig beeps behind her but you keep her attention on you. "It's being handled. I'm okay, and I have you, so as far as I'm concerned, I win anyway."

 

Waverly beams her brighter-than-sunshine smile at you and leans up to press a kiss to your lips. She turns in your arms and pulls the mug of hot cocoa towards her, taking a careful sip. "When do you get a new cruiser?"

 

You shrug. "I think I'm stuck with the unmarked until my car is fixed." 

 

Waverly smirks, devious and adorable. "Then I guess we have to go christen this one, too," she murmurs low in her throat.

 

You gulp.

 

* * *

 

 

It's been eight days since your car was trashed, and it'll be another week or so before you can get it back. 

 

Around lunchtime, Nedley drags in some skinny, punk-looking kid and dumps him in the holding cell, giving you a long, meaningful look. You know immediately.

 

"Simon Regent," Nedley grunts. "Stupid punk had the spray paint and baseball bat in his closet at home."

 

You roll your eyes. "Friend of Tucker Gardner's from back in the day?" you guess. Nedley nods once. 

 

Then, as fate would have it, Waverly walks into the bullpen to pick you up for lunch. "Baby, there's this new place in The Big City called The Granola Bar and they have the  _best_ vegan food--" her voice dies in her throat when she sees the Regent kid. "You," she says, scowl growing on her face and voice lowering. 

 

"Waves--" You leap out of your chair, but she elbows past you.

 

"You--you  _shit ticket_ _!_ " Waverly runs to the bars of the holding cell. "If you think you can just come at  _my baby_ and get away with it--well, you better  _watch your back_ , buddy!" 

 

You wrap your arms around Waverly's waist and drag her tiny, squirming body out of the bullpen. "Waves!" you grunt, dropping your hands on her shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. "Waverly!" She finally stops, looking at you in the eyes. "We  _got_ him, baby. It's all good now. You can quit the Mafia-hit-man routine."

 

Waverly pouts. "Okay, okay," she sighs. She leans in and you place a pacifying kiss on her lips. "The 'Property of Waverly Earp' sticker I ordered gets in tomorrow anyway."

 

"Waverly," you say through a light chuckle, "you're not putting that on my car."

 

She shakes her head. "No of course not," she says. "I'm putting it on your forehead."

 

When she doesn't laugh right away, you gulp. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY it's been so long, you guys!! I've been moving and going through some generally big life changes so I took a brief writing hiatus, but I'm BACK!
> 
> Oh, and HAPPY TWENTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY, WAVERLY!!!


	19. 'cause you know that's what our love can do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How about you play," you say, rubbing a hand up her spine where you can see it through her thin shirt, "and I'll just watch?"
> 
> OR
> 
> Nicole loves video games and Waverly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW sorry guys!! I'm so sorry it's been so long!! I put this fic on hiatus to work on some other stuff and grad school and general-life stuff just kept getting in the way. 
> 
> thank you for being so patient with me :) as always, let me know what you think in the comments below!

So it turns out Nicole loves video games. 

 

"Come on, baby," she said, plopping down onto her couch in flannel PJ pants and s waffle-knit shirt. You slide between her body and the cushions and wrap your arms around her waist, playing with the tie of her pants, as she picks up the game controller and turns on the console. "It's a blizzard outside anyway. We shouldn't be driving in that."

 

Nicole cocks her head towards the window and you see the harsh weather outside. It's snowing  _hard_ , and though you're loathe to admit it, sitting around all afternoon does sound  _nice_.

 

(Champ used to play video games, putting headphones over his ears and ignoring you for hours. It always made you feel like he didn't want you around.

 

There's a terrible part of you that thinks it'll be the same with Nicole.)

 

Nicole leans back into your body, resting her head against your collar bone. She has to slump because you're so much shorter, but when she turns to press a soft kiss to the underside of your jaw, you squeeze her awkwardly-angled body and smile. You suddenly know for sure that Nicole won't ignore you. Nicole wants you to be there.

 

Nicole loves you.

 

Thinking about Nicole and  _loving you_ makes your belly feel warm. You settle against the couch and kiss Nicole's shoulder as she leans up again, readjusting her body so that your legs can wrap around her waist and settle in her lap. She rests her hands, which hold the game controller on both sides, against your ankles, and her skin is soft where it touches yours. 

 

"How about you play," you say, rubbing a hand up her spine where you can see it through her thin shirt, "and I'll just watch?"

 

Nicole looks over her shoulder at you. "Are you sure, Waves?"

 

You nod, biting your lip. Your fingers trail down her spine and around her ribs, down and resting on the divot of bone at her hip. You feel her body shiver and you smirk. "I'll just be here trying not to  _distract_ you."

 

Nicole swallows visibly, but she starts the game without another word. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"No, no, Nicole,  _dodge!_ " you yell into Nicole's ear. You've been watching Nicole play for a little more than an hour--you got up to get hot cocoa for you both, and vegan chocolate chip cookies are resting on a plate on the coffee table--and you'll admit that you might even like this game.

 

In your defense, you think you'd like  _anything_ pressed against Nicole's body like this, but this game has a lead female heroine and she's a badass in all the ways you wish you were. There's also new movie about her, and Nicole thinks you look like the actress who plays her--basically, you and Alicia Vikander are both brunettes with biceps, but who are you to disagree--and you're suddenly finding out that you like video games.

 

(Well, one video game is enough, but, still.)

 

And, as it turns out, Nicole  _stinks_ at video games.

 

She died three times on the first mission alone--which she blamed on you  _distracting her_ and she made you sit on your hands for, like, ten minutes, and she  _still_ kept on dying--and when she completed it after, like, a half-hour, you planted a deep kiss to her lips and got up to get hot cocoa.

 

She winces when Lara Croft gets hit or falls and she dodges when she hears weapons in the game fire and it's all just so adorably Nicole that you can't  _help_ but get into it, too.

 

"Babe, babe, look, there's dudes with guns on that ledge!" You're pointing at the screen and shouting in Nicole's ear, and she startles once before Lara Croft dies  _again_ and she's sent back to the most recent check point.

 

It's here that Nicole pauses the game. She stands from the couch, arching her spine when she rises completely, and you hear her joints crack and pop. She takes an empty snack bowl and your empty mug, with hot cocoa remnants crusting on the sides, into the kitchen, and you hear the water running as she rinses the dishes. 

 

You pick up her game console, side-eyeing where you hear Nicole fussing in the kitchen. You hesitate once--maybe twice--before unpausing the game.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As it turns out, you  _don't_ stink at video games.

 

You don't notice that Nicole's come back until you feel her weight against you on the couch, the cushions dipping beneath her as she settles. "I told you this game is fun," she murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

 

You flush. You've played through a few missions--6, but who's counting--and you're a little embarrassed and a lot guilty that you took Nicole's thing. Champ used to  _hate_ when you played his games, especially when you played them better than he did.

 

(Which was always, but. Well.)

 

You pause the game and thrust the controller in the general direction of Nicole's body. "Shoot, sorry, baby. Here's your game back." 

 

Nicole must feel your body go rigid. When you look over, she's frowning. "Why? You're clearly much better." She pushes the controller back into your body. "You play for a while, Waves. We can take turns."

 

"Are you sure? I don't need to--"

 

"Besides." Nicole's voice has gone deeper, raspy and rough and undeniably sexy. "Watching you play my favorite game? In a pair of my old sweats? On my couch?" She leaves an open-mouthed kiss on your cheek, near your ear. "Super, super hot," she whispers.

 

Your spine shudders and melts, and you gulp. "Uh--o-kay." 

 

Nicole wraps her arms around your middle, leaving a palm high on one of your thighs. "I'll just be here trying not to  _distract_  you." She winks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

As it turns out, you get  _very_ distracted. 

 

If, the next time you come to Nicole's house, you're dressed in short khaki shorts and a skimpy tank top--you'll have to have words with the designers of the original Tomb Raider game about the merits of the practical heroin wardrobe--it's only to try to help Nicole learn how to play the game a little better.

 

You're just really generous like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one's a little shorter--truth is i've been sitting on it for a while.
> 
> the next ones will be longer for sure, you guys.
> 
> hey--is there anything you might want to see in this fic? i have some ideas but i could always use some inspiration!


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